


i'll cover you

by popoyoy11



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pre - Rebirth, Pre-New 52, Sickfic, all da fluff, dont give a fuck, non-canon compliant, sick!Tim, tim's story ended with the 2009 red robin run im sry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 23:16:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popoyoy11/pseuds/popoyoy11
Summary: Vigilantes get stomach flu after all. Some make stupid decisions when they do. The sick fic nobody asked for but I made anyway.





	i'll cover you

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even. Have any. Explanation.
> 
> Also I guess I should clarify that I don't acknowledge n52 or rebirth in this fic whatsomever. My Tim Drake is forever Ryan Potter. So they live in that theater that Tim turns into his house in Red Robin.
> 
> Any mischaracterization is my fault and I apologize. English is not my first language. You have been warned.

To Jason’s defense, Tim is really good at hiding things when he wants to.

Most of the time, he doesn’t know something is wrong until said something is already over (ex. The Doward Mission). So when Red Robin sways on his feet landing on a building, Jason doesn’t need to be told twice, he grabs his grapple hook and Tim, and makes a beeline for their apartment. Tim doesn’t utter a word of protest through the journey, just stays limp in his hands, which confirms his suspicion and does nothing to discourage the worry eating through his gut.

As soon as he reaches their place, he sets Tim on the couch, efficiently stripping him off his uniform. Tim’s eyes are glazed, a flush high on his cheeks, his breath coming off in hot puffs.

“Jesus,” Jason mutters, placing his hand on Tim’s forehead, feeling his temperature. “Fuck, Timmy, you’re burning up.”

He quickly changes Tim and himself out from uniform and into more comfortable clothing, swaddling Tim in an extra sweatshirt when the younger starts shivering. Jason tucks Tim in the bed first before rummaging through medicine cabinet. He returns to their bedroom bringing a glass of water, some cold medicine, and a cool towel. He finds Tim curled up on his side, a pained expression on his face.

He rushes to Tim’s side immediately, “Tim?” he calls, sitting on the side of the bed and cradling Tim’s head, “baby? How are you feeling? Can you sit up for me?”

Tim’s eyes slowly open, “Jay?” he whispers.

“It’s me,” Jason croons. “C’mon,”

Tim sits up carefully.

“Here,” Jason hands him the glass of water and the cold medicine, Tim gulps them down, his face scrunching up in disgust.

“Thanks, Jay,” Tim whispers, burrowing back into the bed.

“You’re welcome, now go back to sleep.”

-

Jason wakes up that night by the movement of Tim getting out of the bed.

“Tim?” Jason hears the unmistakable sound of the toilet bowl being smacked upwards and Tim retching.

“Shit,” Jason mutters, rushing into the bathroom. Tim is emptying his stomach’s content into the toilet—which, Tim being Tim—consists of stomach acid and water.

Jason crouches down beside him, holding back his hair and rubbing soothing circles onto his back. He leaves Tim to fetch another glass of water, when he comes back to the bathroom, Tim is already up on his feet, wobbling his way back to the bedroom.

Tim staggers back into his bed with Jason trailing behind him like a mother duck. Tim immediately flops back onto the mattress when he finds it, groaning. Jason helps the boy get up and lean semi-upright onto the pillows. He hands Tim the water, Tim manages to take tiny sips before clenching his mouth shut and shaking his head. Jason sighs.

All the color has drained from Tim’s face, leaving it paler than a ghost’s; his bangs are plastered to his forehead. The shirt he’d gone to sleep with sticks to him in patches of sweat. He lets out a pitiful moan that almost, not quite but almost, broke Jason’s heart.

“I feel like shit,” Tim mumbles. His voice barely above a rasp.

“You look like shit,” Jason comments, setting the empty glass on the table. He frowns, “You stupid. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? How long have you been feeling sick?”

“Uh, a while?”

“Tim, didn’t we have this talk about your destructive tendencies a while back?”

Tim keeps his eyes closed. Jason can hear his effort to stabilize his breathing, his chest seems to follow this effort greatly. Maybe fighting back another urge to vomit. “I honestly thought it would go away on its own.”

Jason sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “If you weren’t sick I would kick your ass to space right now for being so stupid.”

“Gee thanks, Jay, that’s exactly the thing I want to hear when I’m sick,” Tim says, but there’s no bite to it, just a tired sort of resignation.

“Wait.” Jason frowns. “Didn’t you lose your spleen, or something?”

Tim manages a weak shrug. “Eh.”

“Eh?”

“I—” Tim swallows, Jason can hear his breathing become more labored. He quickly goes outside to grab a bin, making sure to line it with a plastic bag first. He keeps the door open so he could keep an eye on Tim. “—regrew it.”

Jason almost lost his grip on the bin when he reenters. “You _what?_ ”

“There was this mission with aliens. It’s um. Hard to explain.”

“Try me,” Jason says drily. He sits down beside Tim and positions the bin strategically on he floor next to his hand.

“It was a—” And that’s exactly when the retching makes itself known again.

Jason runs a hand through his hair. It was going to be a long night.

-

Tim sleeps fitfully that night, tossing and turning and moaning every five minutes. Jason sleeps less, if not at all. Tim’s temperature doesn’t want to go down and his dreams seem to consist of dead faces because he keeps mumbling out for his dad in his sleep. Jason alternates between pacing the house, holding and comforting Tim, and religiously going through the medical textbooks in their bookshelves.

Jason’s never been more relieved when morning rolls around. He makes a call to Alfred, which, he could have done at any point in the night. Considering.

Christ, apparently Jason loses brain cells when he worries.

“Hey, Alf. Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Tim’s just a little bit sick. He keeps throwing up. Yeah, I think it’s the flu, too. Boy just doesn’t know when to _fucking_ _stop._ Yep. Yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna make him. Yeah you got any recipe for—? Yep. Uh-huh. Do I have to mince it or—? Alright. Thanks a bunch, Alf, you’re a lifesaver. Say hi to Demon Kid for me, won’t cha? Eh, I’ll go there when I go there. Is the Old Man there? Emphasize on the Old. Is that why you’re asking? Tell him to get _fucking rekt_. Put some salt in his coffee for me, Alf, my good man. Bye!”

Jason exhales, taking a minute to recompose himself. “What a _fucking_ ride,” he mutters.

For lack of anything to do, he pulls out his pots and pans, some chicken, some spices, and sets to cooking.

Half an hour later, Jason hears a slight rustle of clothing from the bedroom and a faint, pathetic call of his name. Tim emerges a minute later, weakly dragging himself to the kitchen.

Jason stops what he’s doing and faces Tim, frowning. He stretches his arms and puts his hands on the island. “You should be in bed.”

Tim climbs the kitchen chair and flops onto the kitchen island, pressing his cheek onto the cool surface of the marble tabletop. Jason can’t stand the sight. He smiles a little, slides down until his hands can touch Tim’s hair and cards his fingers through the soft strands. Tim sighs.

“Feel a little better?” Jason asks.

Tim hums a soft affirmative. “Kind of,” he whispers. “Don’t feel much like throwing up. Still feel like dying.”

Jason moves further down and kisses the mop of Tim’s hair. “Idiot,” he murmurs.

Tim hums again. Jason lets himself stay like that for three beats. Then he rights himself and draws a breath.

“Right.” He sets two mugs in front of Tim. “Finish these,” he commands.

Tim lifts his head and reaches for one of them, keeping it close to his chest and taking small sips. Jason watches like a hawk at first, his arms crossed in front of him. After he’s sure that Tim isn’t likely to stop, he turns around and goes back to his cooking.

“If you feel up to it, you can have this later,” Jason starts. “It’s Alfred’s recipe so I know you can stomach it.” Jason glances back at Tim.

Tim had changed his shirt into one that says ‘viva la revolution’. Jason’s eyes slides to his bare shoulder where it has fallen off his gaunt frame. Jason’s shirts are always too big on him, but it never used to leave this much _space_. Even if Tim has always been on the leaner side, he has never been on the skinny-as-a-stick side. Weight losses don’t happen overnight; Jason should have looked out for signs of illnesses sooner.

Tim makes a disgusted noise.

Jason rolls his eyes. “You’d better appreciate my cooking or I’m kicking you out.”

“Isn’t that blackmail?” Tim says, setting his emptied second cup on the table. “Also, I own this place?”

“Technicalities.” Jason ladles some of the soup into a bowl and pointedly sets it with a spoon in front of Tim. He points to the steaming meal. “Eat.”

Tim takes tentative sips at first, he says something under his breath that Jason can’t quite catch. He eats steadily, so Jason will settle for that.

Jason gets some of the food for himself and joins Tim across the kitchen counter.

“This is disgustingly domestic,” Tim comments.

“Yeah, problem?” Jason replies nonchalantly, digging into his rice and soup.

“Not necessarily,” Tim says between bites. “Shit, this is amazing.”

“I know.”

“Alfred,” he sighs dreamily.

“Yeah.”

“Jay?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

Jason stares at Tim. The boy is fiddling with his food now, pushing a piece of potato around instead of eating it, he’d consumed half of the bowl, more of what Jason had anticipated. He always complies with Jason’s words when he means something, so he must mean it now.

“It’s alright, I guess. I’ve gotten used to your fuck-uppedness by now, so I’m not surprised.”

Tim grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Give us a kiss then?”

“Ew, no. I’m not catching whatever nasty shit is causing _this._ ” Jason motions to Tim with his spoon.

Tim laughs.

When they’re finished Jason takes the dirty plates to the sink and washes them while Tim goes to the bathroom to wash his face and change his clothes. The hot food made him sweat out more.

“Ugh. Laundry,” Tim comments, walking to the sofa where Jason had made himself comfortable. Tim sits next into Jason and snuggles into him, he sighs contently.

“What did you take?”

“Um, some anti-nauseous meds and paracetamol.”

“Okay,” Jason answers. Tim still feels warm but he’s eating. Jason makes him drink tiny sips of water and Gatorade whenever he could. At around ten AM Tim throws up again, Jason comforts him through it, running his hands over Tim’s back and gently combing through his hair with his fingers.

After they’d consumed their second meal of the day, Tim falls dead asleep halfway through a movie, his head on Jason’s lap. Jason moves him to the bed so he could get more comfortable.

He keeps vigil in the bedroom. He sits on the bedroom desk and cracks open his laptop, pulls up data upon data for some research. When he gets bored of research, he drags the chair to the bed, grabs a copy of Les Miserables in original French and reads it aloud to Tim.

“Oh, yes, talk French to me, sexy,” Tim suddenly rasps out some time in the evening.

Jason stops reading abruptly, he gapes at first, then smirks. "Tim, that's _very_ gay."

Tim cracks open his eyes. “I'm aware. Please, continue.” He smiles. He gets up slowly and stretches, Jason hands him a glass of water and pills, Tim swallows them without question.

Jason puts his book aside and touches Tim’s face, feeling his skin and forehead. “Warm.”

Tim sighs and purses his lips. “It’ll go down soon enough.”

-

Around nine at night, Tim sneaks out to the base underneath the theatre. Jason had checked around the base to make sure there isn’t any unusual tripwires or preparations for this escape. He had also checked the system for any interference or tampering. He found none. Tim must want to get caught. Or maybe he’s disoriented enough to try without a more complicated plan.

Tim flips on the light switch of the Cave and is greeted by Jason, his booted feet propped up on the console desk.

“So like, where do you think _you’re_ going?” Jason asks casually, twirling a knife in his hand, recently honed to deadly sharpness.

Tim freezes, he’s still in his oversized shirt and shorts, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“Especially dressed like that, you’ll catch a cold,” Jason adds.

Tim’s features change, his lips curl down in dissatisfaction. He takes a step forward, composing himself. He eyes Jason calculatingly. Looking for weapons, he’ll bet, he also eyes his surroundings. Looking for exits.

Which is ridiculous, considering Tim was the one who built this base in the first place.

Tim straightens up. “I’m going out, the Webber case is still open,” he answers carefully.

Jason snorts. “Like hell you are. You can barely stand.”

Tim tentatively takes another step. “Jason, I’m fine.”

“You have a fever of 37,9 degrees Celcius.” Jason stands up, drawing himself to his full height. His bulk is an advantage he’ll always have over Tim, he uses it now to start the argument.

Jason’s already geared up, ready for patrol, for a brawl in a Cave floor, even. Tim, even evidently not, will not go down without a fight. Jason doesn’t doubt his ability to escape this situation victorious, which is why Jason has employed extra measures.

He needs Tim to see reason first, though.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sick, Tim, if you overexert yourself, you’ll die,” Jason insists.

Tim’s eyes harden. “Better that than another woman murdered.”

“You can’t fucking protect people if you’re _dead_ , Tim!”

“It’s an occupational _risk,_ Jason. This line of work requires sacrifice, I have to do this Jay. If you _really_ cared about me, you’d know what I’m talking about,” Tim counters.

Jason chooses to ignore the barbed wire implied in Tim’s words.

He scoffs instead. “Oh, fuck you.”

He snaps his fingers once and Tim crumbles to the ground. Jason lets go of his knife, it clatters on the hard floor as Jason run to catch Tim’s limp body.

Jason gently plucks out the needle from behind Tim’s neck and holds it out. “You can lower the gun now.”

Dick steps out from the shadows, walking over and grabbing the dart from Jason’s outstretched hand. He twirls it in his hand, before stowing it and the gun in one of his various pouches. Jason rights Tim’s position, putting him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He smacks Tim’s ass once.

“That’s for the shit you said,” he mutters.

Dick raises an eyebrow. “That was some spat,” he comments, “he won’t be happy when he wakes up.”

Jason shrugs. “Like I care. He’ll forgive me soon enough. The chips are stacked against him this time, he has to admit defeat, or we’ll break up.”

Dick stares. “Seriously?”

“Yep.” Jason pops the p at the end. “Let me deposit this deadweight on his bed first, and then we can go after Webber.”

Dick nods. “Sure.”

-

 “—and then they live happily ever after, the end.”

The first thing that Tim registers is the pleasant bass of Jason’s voice. Next is how comfortably warm he is, and how he’s not sweating enough liquid to rehydrate a dying man. Tim opens his eyes groggily and blinks, slowly adjusting to the sunlight streaming through the blinds.

“Who lives happily ever after?” he asks.

“Goldilocks. And her three bears,” Jason answers. Tim sits up and finds Jason sat on a chair next to the bed. He still has his armor on, his hair is in complete disarray. One of his eyes are swollen, there’s a cut above his lip and he’s hunched forward, like he’s curling around his torso.

“Good morning, princess,” Jason grins.

It takes Tim a while to remember what went on before he lost consciousness; the sting of a needle on his skin. Tim’s hand shoots up to the back of his neck, while the other balls to a fist.

“You!” Tim shouts furiously. “You drugged me!”

Jason shrugs. “Yeah, so? Had to do everything to keep you from dying.”

“Jason, you can’t just do that!”

Jason’s face falls. “Shut it, Tim. You were practically emaciated. I don’t fucking care what you think I can and can’t do. I’ll do what it takes to _keep you from dying_ ,” Jason bites out, his words punctuated by jabs of his finger. He gets up and drops a manila folder on Tim’s lap.  “And before you say anything about whomever fuck’s life I might have done away with, you might want to check that file first.”

Slightly limping, Jason storms out of the bedroom.

Tim stares after Jason’s retreating figure, his teeth gritted in seething. He flips open the folder to find a completed report of the Webber case, including the fate of his last target and how she survives.

It’s filled out and signed by both Red Hood and Nightwing.

“What in the world…” Tim says under his breath. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Swallowing his indignation, he gets up and follows Jason down to the base.

In the base, Jason is wincing as he proceeds to strip himself from his armor. He’s reaching for something on his back, but his ribs won’t let his arm move that far. Tim closes in from behind the man, if he notices Tim approaching he doesn’t say anything. Tim puts his hand over Jason’s own struggling hand. Jason goes rigid for a second before he lets go, his arm stilling beside him.

Tim methodically unhooks and unzips all of Jason’s armor. It’s made from Kevlar and leather. He personally saw that whatever upgrades Bruce and he had, Jason got it too. The chest piece of the armor has bullet dents on it. Tim’s palms ghost over them, he counts their number.

On a particularly eventful night, it could reach a hundred.

Tim puts the last piece into the armory, Jason stands motionless in front of him, looking down.

“Go shower. I’ll set your ribs for you,” Tim says, not looking into Jason’s eyes. He already misses the heat of that blue-jade gaze. He only dares to dart his eyes once, catching the bob of Jason’s adam’s apple as he swallows.

Without a word, Jason stalks off.

Tim dresses and wraps Jason’s wounds in silence. Jason has cuts and bruises all over his body, including a broken rib and a dislocated ankle. Tim is thankful for the fully stocked medbay, otherwise Jason would have had to go to his own safehouse to be treated.

(And Tim might not have been able to follow)

Jason winces when Tim applies dressing to a particularly nasty gash on his forearm.

Tim pauses, he meets Jason’s eyes. “Sorry,” Tim apologizes.

 _For this_.

 _For all the other things. For my reckless tendencies_.

Jason’s expression is unreadable, but he returns the stare, staying for a couple of seconds before smirking. “Eh,” he says, “I’ve had bigger cuts.”

 _I know,_ he’s saying, _it’s okay_ , and _I’m sorry too_.

Tim smiles. Jason grins.

The former brings his face closer to the latter. “Then don’t be such a big baby about it,” he teases.

Jason laughs. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt as much if you weren’t doing such a bad job with it.”

Jason’s good hand goes to hold Tim’s face, Tim closes his eyes.

“Bad job, huh? I knew I should have left you bleeding on the curb.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t dare,” Jason whispers, Tim can feel his breath on his face. “You love me way too much.” Jason closes the gap between the two of them with a kiss.

The kiss, as always, is breathtakingly magnificent.

-

“Fuck,” Jason moans, retching his guts out into the toilet bowl.

Tim pats him awkwardly on the back. “There, there.”

“How are you so horrible at this?”

“I have no idea.” Tim hands him a box of tissue and a glass of water.

“God fucking dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Jason curses. He presses his forehead on the wall beside the toilet bowl. “Why did I have to make such bad decision?”

Tim picks up Jason’s glass and refills it. He hands it over to Jason and checks his watch, tapping his foot impatiently on the bathroom floor. His eyes flit distractedly all over the room.

Jason sighs. “Go,” he says, “I know you’ve got to schmooze or whatever.”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “No, you’re sick. I should stay home.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Unlike _some_ people, I am capable of taking care of myself when I’m sick.”

“Yeah?” Tim asks.

One of the reason why Tim was working himself to death before he got down was apparently, a deal with a Chinese corporation to fund a branch of a Wayne Youth program. A Chinese corporation whose CEO was going to be at today’s Gala that Tim is supposed to be in.

Jason understands the importance the whole thing to Tim, he’s not going to take Tim’s time from such an impactful project.

“Yeah, shoo, go,” Jason repeats. “You’d be useless at home anyway, we both know I’m going to take care of myself while you laze around and watch movies.”

Tim frowns. “I don’t do that.”

Jason levels him with a look.

“Fine, maybe I do,” Tim relents. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone over?”

“I’m sure,” Jason replies tiredly.

Tim smooths his three-piece and crouches down.  “I’m sorry, Jay, I’ll call Alfred over, okay?” Tim, for what it’s worth, looks genuinely concerned. He kisses Jason’s forehead, earning a sigh from the latter, who closes his eyes. Tim puts his lips close to Jason’s ear.  “Also, I love you.”

Jason’s eyes fly open. “Wait what.”

Tim straightens up. He smirks, gives him a mock salute and skedaddles out of the bathroom. Jason gapes.

“What? Tim!” He yells and tries to get up, only to be seized by another wave of nausea. “What the _fuck_.” Jason shouts, falling. He succeeds in standing up, but it was too late, he hears the familiar sound of the door being unlocked and locked again, and with that, all trace of Tim is gone from the apartment.

He runs his fingers through his greasy hair. “What the actual _fuck_.”

 

      

**Author's Note:**

> That's basically it, let me know what you think with a comment! Or you could visit me on my [tumblr](http://p-p-poy.tumblr.com/) and let me know all the other possibilities in this AU or check out my [DC sideblog](http://sneakytimmytime.tumblr.com/) ! Thanks for reading, have a good day!


End file.
